Troy's Wide Seaboard
by Cudae
Summary: The idea of "home" as explored through the eyes and relationships of Hephaestion in the late stages of Alexander's campaign. Chapter 2: Hephaestion Appeals to Alexander.
1. Seleucus Joins Hephaestion by the Fire

**Troy's Wide Seaboard**

Part One of Three

**Note on origin of this story:** I originally intended this story to be a single chapter companion piece to "Elpis," however, the Muses saw fit to extend the plotline into a vague series of interconnected pieces, all focusing on the idea of "home." I have tried to be fair to the personages involved, as I am a classicist who does not always trust ancient sources and a writer who finds many current depictions to be unfair. Therefore, I have tried to capture a certain portrait of homesickness through the eyes of a dynamic Hephaestion. There are two upcoming portions of this story, in which we will see Alexander and Ptolemy, and you will get to see just why I intended it as an extension of "Elpis."

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who read, and especially those who reviewed, "Elpis." I made a couple mistakes in that one that I did not catch before posting, so I hope I have improved in that area. In any case, it was great to see so many readers for the first fic I have posted here in roughly four years. Thanks again. Enjoy this one.

**Part One: Seleucus Joins Hephaestion by the Fire**

_c. 333 BC_

To Hephaestion's eyes, the fire looked oddly subdued. There was no reason: it had been made from wood and debris dried out in tents and wagons, the wet smoked out from low soil fires and stinking dung fires. This clean wood fire was supposed to raise his spirits, to warm him with sweet smelling smoke, but the flames were low and gave off little heat. He sat by it anyway, perhaps out of a sense of pride. If nothing else, it was his fire, and he could stare into the flames as long as he wished.

Steps behind him broke his absent reverie, but he didn't bother to turn until the other lowered himself to sit beside him. "Joy to you, Seleucus," he greeted his visitor, politely.

"And to you," Seleucus responded, then offered him the contents of a bowl in his hands. A glance and a few sniffs could not satisfactorily identify the food, and Hephaestion turned it down. He wasn't hungry anyway.

A few silent moments passed between the two generals before Seleucus sighed audibly. Hephaestion glanced at him: he was looking west again. He was always looking west these days. "What are you thinking?" Hephaestion asked, just to get him to stop looking.

"I am thinking that I should like to smell Macedonian earth," Seleucus said, turning back to Hephaestion. Hephaestion snorted and poked at his fire with the end of a stick. It hissed irritably at him. "Come now, Hephaestion," Seleucus urged him amiably, "You cannot be so hardened as to never wish for home."

Hephaestion looked up briefly before returning his eyes to the fire. "I set my home aside long ago, Seleucus."

"It hasn't been so long. I imagine that there would still be many things the same. The only change might be that Antipater's nose has grown even larger." Seleucus offered, laughing a little.

Hephaestion almost smiled at his lightness, but his mood had turned dark long before Seleucus joined him. He wondered, absently, if Thais was well, and where Alexander was, and if the one of his young pages with a slow mind would be better off training for the infantry. "I was born in Athens," he answered Seleucus, slowly, "That I gave up long ago."

Engaged, Seleucus raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Then you suppose that you'll never see it again?" he questioned, slurping at whatever vile stew he was eating.

Hephaestion's nose crinkled in distaste and he shook his head. "I left it when I was five years old, visited once when I was eight, and haven't seen it since." He paused and turned his face up to the sky, just long enough to pick out a constellation and remember the name. "I will not see it again." He sighed. There had been too many years between him and Athens. His Greek was accented now, and a thick enough one, when he forgot himself, that anyone could have picked out where he came from. He was from Pella, and perhaps, in his heart, always had been.

"That is how I think of Macedon," Seleucus said, interrupting his thoughts. "I suppose that if I live through this campaign, I shall never go back, and even if I do, I will not stay."

"You would not stay?" Hephaestion questioned, "Your family has lived in Macedon since the first people lived in Greece."

Seleucus nodded. "That's true, I think." He smiled, "Do you know that I have two older sisters, and three more who died as babies? I was my parents' last child, and their only boy." Hephaestion smiled and Seleucus shook his head, continuing, "But I won't go back, not even for them, if they still live. I've gone too far now."

"You've gone too far? How is that?" Hephaestion frowned and shifted to face him more fully. "You've gone no farther than anyone else, and most of them would gladly return to Macedon now."

Seleucus sighed. "When I was still training," he said, with a the barest hint of sadness, "I wanted to see the world." He paused for a moment, and when he continued, he sounded slightly hoarse, "But that was foolish of me, for now I fear I've seen too much."

Hephaestion smiled and laughed a little. "You're young yet, Seleucus," he said, resting a comforting hand on his leg, "There's more to see, of Macedon and Greece too."

Seleucus shook his head and laughed bitterly. "You misunderstand me," he said. "It is not the land I have seen too much of, but the people, and their acts." He looked at the ground, and rubbed the toe of his boot into the dirt. "Do you never think of it, Hephaestion? Do you never think of what they will say when we return?"

Hephaestion bit his lip for a moment. "I believe Alexander," he said, with a slight hesitation, "That they will see us as heroes for the glory we bring."

"What glory?" Seleucus asked, making a sound in his throat that Hephaestion couldn't name. It was like laughing, or crying, or both. He spoke quickly, "I've burned villages, and raped women, and killed children. I've stolen land from better men, and I've shamed and damned whole families." He looked at Hephaestion. "I've done nothing less than anyone else, and a little more. I've tortured prisoners and given orders to do the same. I'm not a hero, Hephaestion."

"They will see you as such," Hephaestion responded confidently, deliberately ignoring the heart of Seleucus' speech.

"Perhaps because I had no brothers," Seleucus said, "And it was the woman's perspective that I learned when I was young, that I am ashamed for what I've done. For the shame I've caused."

Hephaestion did not answer for a moment, allowing his mind to wander through memories. He cleared his throat. "You would not return to Macedon because you've raped a woman?"

"Fifteen, counting the ones that truly fought back. A few more, if I count the ones that just stared or just looked away," Seleucus stated dryly, as if he kept a tally written somewhere.

Hephaestion rubbed at the back of his neck. He was growing tired of this conversation, and wary of its direction. "That does not take away from what you have accomplished," he said calmly, diplomatically.

Seleucus sighed. "You are not understanding me, I fear."

Hephaestion chewed the inside of his lip in thought. "Perhaps not," he said finally. The gods knew they all had done those things. All of them killed, and raped, and the gods knew that he, too, had even taken pleasure in torturing certain prisoners. He tasted blood inside of his mouth, and knew exactly where Seleucus' thoughts tended, and knew too, that he did not want to go there. Not yet.

Seleucus shifted restlessly, anxiously. "I know how all of Macedon will see us when we return with wealth and power," Seleucus said, "But how will my mother see me?" Hephaestion gave him a sharp look. "How will she see me if she knows I have raped women and killed them?" Seleucus asked, disregarding Hephaestion. "If anyone had done that to her, I would take vengeance. But no one dares to take vengeance on me, Hephaestion, because I am too powerful. I am beyond them."

"And that makes you ashamed?" Hephaestion asked carefully. He'd always been fond of Seleucus, and valued his quick mind, though he feared the younger general tended to be flighty. He kept his voice delicate and deliberate.

"Shouldn't it?" Seleucus murmured, looking at the ground as if he had just been chastised by the same woman of whose opinion he was so afraid, by whose opinion he was so shamed.

Hephaestion nodded, and considered for a moment, remembering long sunny days at Mieza and trips back to his father's house, where his brothers waited, older than him by years, but waiting to talk with him and teach him nonetheless. He remembered servants chiding him for misbehavior and Ptolemy's family visiting for quiet parties with his parents. "I was," he started, speaking softly, "Named after a temple in the Acropolis at Athens."

"You were named after a temple?" Seleucus questioned, raising a puzzled eyebrow. "That's odd," he said, referring to more than just the name.

Hephaestion smiled a little. "I was named after the temple of Hephaestus," he said, "Because that is where my father went to pray for another son. When I arrived, he thanked the god by naming me after him and his temple, because Hephaestus had favored him and saw fit to pull the strings of fate to give me to them. And it was when I was eight, and my family was visiting Athens, that my father and I were returning from praying at that temple, near dusk, and were walking past all the alleyways I was forbidden to run down. And just once, I happened to hear a strangled cry and turned my head, but my father gripped my arm and pulled me along, telling me it was none of my concern." He paused and looked back to the fire, letting the flames absorb his attention as he gathered the pieces of memory. "We returned back to the house in which we were staying. My father said nothing of the incident and my brothers and I were eventually sent to bed. But I could not sleep, and stayed awake to overhear my father and mother speaking, and heard my father say that we had passed a man raping a girl who was even not old enough to marry." He sighed. "My mother snorted and simply said that she was a fool to have been passing down the alley in the first place."

Seleucus did not comment for a long time, letting the silence stretch out. "What are you saying?" he finally asked.

Hephaestion poked at his fire again, unsure of how to answer now. The memory was brilliant to him, every color and edge clear in his mind. Softly, he said, "You should not be ashamed for what you have done in war, or else none of us will ever go home again." When he closed his eyes, he saw Philotas', staring, unblinking, pleading with him, as if to say _Believe me, Hephaestion. _

Seleucus stayed silent until he found the words to express his thoughts. He stared into the flickering flames of the little fire. "If that is truly what you mean, then I won't go home again," he echoed, "Even if I am living in my father's house, comfortable in Pella, I will never be home."

Hephaestion kicked some dirt at the fire, suddenly exhausted and angered by its presence. It was too poor a fire, too poor for someone used to building fires, and not even brighter than the memory of fire. He took a deep breath. "Then you see why I don't think I will ever see Macedon again," he said, not looking at Seleucus. Without a sound, they watched the fire die.

_I'm back with scars to show,_

_Back with the streets I know_

_Will never take me anywhere but here._

_The stain in the carpet, this drink in my hand_

_The strangers whose faces I know_

_We meet here for our dress rehearsal to say_

"_I wanted it this way."_

["Left and Leaving" –the Weakerthans


	2. Hephaestion Appeals to Alexander

**Note:** Thank you to everyone who has read (reviewed!) thus far. It is very encouraging. I hope you continue to enjoy this story. I realize it is a little different from what most people are used to seeing, but I hope you do value this for what it is. Also, I apologize for any formatting mess-ups, I have been trying to work on that, but sometimes things happen. In any case, everything is still readable.

**Hephaestion Appeals to Alexander**

"We secure our friends not by accepting favors, but by doing them." --Thucydides, _History of the Peloponnesian War_

_Indus Valley, 333 BC_

He did not start when he heard the heavy footsteps beyond the entrance to his tent, and he did not start when the flap was suddenly flung open, and he remained absolutely calm – almost stoic – when Hephaestion entered, his face flushed and eyes shining. No, he was much too tired for _starting_, even had he a reason to be startled. He was simply much too busy at the moment, but he wouldn't dare telling Hephaestion that, not at the moment, not when he was looking at him like that. So he asked simply, "What's the matter?" And let the question hang there as he piled his papers and pushed them away, not even bothering to glance at the ones that fluttered to the floor and scattered in the draft. He looked at Hephaestion, intent upon his animated form.

"Have you read Thucydides, Alexander?" Hephaestion asked, beginning to pace.

"No," Alexander returned, shaking his head. "What did he write?"

Hephaestion stopped with his back to Alexander, then looked over his shoulder to answer. "He wrote an excellent account of the war between Sparta and Athens.(1) You would like it."

"Would I?" Alexander questioned, feeling a rising uneasiness in his chest, because he could not read Hephaestion's thoughts, and that was, as it had always been, a most fearful realization.

Hephaestion resumed his pacing. "He reproduces the speeches of great men; I would think you would be interested." He shrugged, momentarily halting his movement. "There are also some revealing passages about the various tactics of both sides. I'm sure that would be of interest as well."

Alexander narrowed his eyes. These words were calculated, precise, and pregnant with motive. "It would interest me," he admitted carefully, then, half-heartedly hoping to invite a change of subject, asked, "Do you have a copy?"

Hephaestion nodded slowly, but spoke as if he had not heard Alexander's words at all. "He also wrote on the causes of the war, and with a minimum of poetry. They were interesting reasons, I think, and justifiable." He stood before Alexander in precarious balance, arms crossed and one foot curled daintily around the opposing ankle.

"Justifiable?" Alexander asked, his eyes taking in every curve and turn of Hephaestion's posture, looking for a revelation of thought or motive. "I was under the impression it was an aggravated territorial spat." He shifted uncomfortably; Hephaestion was tense, and the obscurity of the reason unsettled him.

He suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow as Hephaestion said simply, a bit too loud to be a murmur, "Fear," he paused, and looked away, as if towards Greece, "Fear and honor and concern for the self."

Alexander did not answer, but shifted uncomfortably. Hephaestion returned his eyes to him and stared openly. He watched as an unreadable thought, or perhaps the ghost of an emotion, briefly shadowed Hephaestion's face, and then, as if dissatisfied by what it found, passed on. He used his foot to push a chair towards Hephaestion. "Sit down," he commanded, and then added, softening his words with a gentle laugh, "You're making me nervous." Hephaestion sank into the chair like a stone in a river, and sat stiffly, an acute awareness shining from his eyes and glistening on him like sweat. Absently, Alexander nodded, as if pleased, and offered discussion. "This Thucydides makes an excellent point, I think. Did he elaborate?"

Hephaestion looked at him, the same awareness that defined his body seeming to define his mind as well. "I was not concerned with what started the war," he said, and the left corner of his mouth crept up, a smirk to imply that he meant something more. Under the table, away from Hephaestion's sight, Alexander made a fist. "Though," Hephaestion conceded, in a voice that made it sound like a taunt, "The reasoning was interesting."

"If you were not concerned by the start of the war," Alexander inquired, keeping his voice level, diplomatic, "What were you concerned with?" He met Hephaestion's eyes with a dark stare, a challenge. He was reminded of Hephaestion before a fight, when he was deadly calm and lost in a wide lake of dark temper, something like melancholia, but more violent, and calm. He blinked once, the action suddenly conscious, and watched Hephaestion mirror the movement, just as knowing. In the back of his mind, he reassured himself that it was just Hephaestion…just Hephaestion, and that, even if the whole world was against him, Hephaestion would be his. He could handle that. He took a deep breath, and waited.

"I read the History for other reasons," Hephaestion explained, as if to a slow child, "Because it no longer matters to me why wars begin." He placed his open palm on the table and traced the grain of the wood with a finger. There was a light, old scar on the back of his hand, one that cut across from his longest finger to his thumb. He said, "Now I am only interested in what ends wars."

Suddenly, Alexander wanted to touch him. He wanted to stretch out his arm and place his hand over Hephaestion's. His fingertips tingled at the thought, and he imagined that the tiny thin hairs on the back of Hephaestion's hand stood up in anticipation. They did not. "What did Thucydides say on that matter?" he asked, and truly wondered what a man who said war occurred because of fear and honor would have to say on such a matter. Surely, he thought, such things did not easily abate.

Hephaestion sighed audibly and drew his hand back. He bent his wrist to an extreme angle and seemed to relax at the satisfaction of the crack it made. "He said nothing explicitly," he answered, leaving his lips parted, as if he were breathing in his sleep.

A strange trepidation rose in the pit of his belly and Alexander shifted again. "What could you infer?" He asked, tilting his head to the side in thought.

"I could infer nothing but my own thoughts," Hephaestion responded quickly, as if he had been expecting the question and was offended.

Involuntarily, Alexander recoiled, and, by the light smirk that appeared on Hephaestion's face, knew that the slight movement had been. He moved quickly, shifting around restlessly in his seat until he found a comfortable position. "What are your thoughts on the matter?" he asked, with a weak wish that this conversation were occurring under different circumstances. Hephaestion shrugged, and Alexander found himself annoyed more than the motion warranted. "Answer me," he spat suddenly, "Or tell me why you came here in the first place."

Hephaestion looked past him, over his shoulder, at something at an impossible distance. Alexander hissed his breath out between his teeth and slowly, as if responding to the sound, Hephaestion's attention wandered back. "I am tired," he stated, sounding muffled, or as if he was speaking under water.

"Then sleep," Alexander answered, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture. "I do not keep you." He looked hard at Hephaestion, willing him to leave, to _want_ to leave.

"That is not what I mean," Hephaestion said, and Alexander thought that he sounded perplexed by the sound of his own voice. The notion frightened him a little, but he could not deny the slight intrigue. He pursed his lips and waited. After a moment, Hephaestion explained, "I am well-rested, Alexander, but I am tired." Alexander nodded, but Hephaestion simply looked at him, blinking his eyes slowly, as if they were heavy with sleep.

"You are tired…" Alexander prompted, finding his temper to be shortening as time progressed.

Hephaestion looked at him, tracing his features with his eyes. "It was my answer," he said, as if confused by Alexander's lack of comprehension.

"Your answer to what?" Alexander asked, opening his hand to the sky as if seeking a divine answer.

Hephaestion waited for a moment, almost as if he expected the divine answer to arrive. When none came, he said, quietly, "To why wars end." He paused for a moment longer and searched Alexander's face. Alexander remained impassive, expecting and waiting for the elaboration. "Men get tired," Hephaestion explained, "And that is why wars end."

Alexander did not respond, but he felt a flush creep into his cheeks, and knew that Hephaestion could see it. The intense temptation to goad Hephaestion came to him; he wanted to push him suddenly, to tip the balance that held him seated calmly and would make him angry and hateful. He wanted to say the things to make blood color Hephaestion's face as well, the way it did in battle. "What," he asked, his voice edging along with the coldness of death, "Are you implying?"

He had been expecting the veiled accusation to fly straight and hit its mark, but Hephaestion had always been an excellent soldier, and he knew the exact moment to put up his shield between the first hiss of the arrow and the final thud. He laughed aloud, startling Alexander, and shook his head. "The army is tired, Alexander, and one day they will tell you as much," he said, still laughing lightly, "But not yet. They still follow you, and have some energy left for the task. I mean only myself."

Alexander stayed silent, intuitively understanding that no further explanation would come without his reply, yet hoping that Hephaestion would speak again. When the silence itself began to feel wearying, he asked softly, "Are you tired of this?" Hephaestion shook his head, but did not speak, so Alexander asked again, "Are you tired of this campaign?"

"I am not tired of what we are seeking," Hephaestion responded, seeming over-cautious and unsure. He shrugged as he said, "I merely long for home."

Alexander straightened his posture and leaned forward. "And you would cease warfare to return home?" he asked, choosing Hephaestion's previous words and molding them. Suppressing the growth of horror that seemed to be increasing and thickening in his belly, he watched as Hephaestion nodded. He swallowed, hard enough and loud enough that Hephaestion heard him, and the barest smile played around the edges of his lips. He had succeeded in making Alexander nervous, but there was no pride in it. "If you want to go back to Macedon," Alexander said, his voice halting as the voice of the seat of emotion screamed at him, "I will not stop you." He paused, then added, intending to return the hurt, the horror, "There are others who can take your place."

Yet again, for reasons Alexander could neither place nor name, his words did not take their effect, and Hephaestion simply laughed, though his laugh was subdued now, and shadows crept in at the sides, like drafts under a door. "I am not going back to Macedon," he said, imbuing his words with the gentle tones of reassurance. He stretched one hand towards Alexander in a gesture that, had it come from any other man, would have been supplication, but was transformed into a muted desire for something, anything. Alexander met the yearning hand with his own, and squeezed the fingers tight enough that the blood was trapped, but not enough that bones ground together. Hephaestion glanced at their interlocked hands for a moment before he spoke again. He said, "I do not think my father would recognize me if I returned now."

Alexander closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to remember what color the dawn showed on the wall opposite his bed in Pella. In the place where the memory should have been, he found only a blank space, and he squeezed Hephaestion's hand tight enough to feel the bones grinding together, and ignored the pained squirm. "You will go home," he stated as he opened his eyes, "And your father will know you." He met Hephaestion's eyes. "He will be honored by you."

Hephaestion smiled and brushed his free hand across his face, wiping at the thin layer of sweat that rested there, refracting the dimming light. Alexander sighed and released his hand. For a long time he watched Hephaestion and tried to remember the color of Pella, and the smell of the garden of Hephaestion's home. But each memory failed to recall, and he felt blank and ill. Hephaestion looked pale, and he knew that Hephaestion was concerned with the same thoughts.

"In springtime," Alexander asked, "When the first flowers bloomed, what did your father's garden smell like?"

Hephaestion licked his lips and met Alexander's eyes. Alexander flinched at the blankness he found in Hephaestion's gaze, but suppressed the action as Hephaestion breathed, barely louder than a whisper, "I cannot remember."

Alexander took a deep breath, and looked over Hephaestion's shoulder, past him, past the camp. "We'll go home soon," he said, then returned his eyes to Hephaestion, and smiled. "Soon," he repeated; it was all he could say.

------

(1) _The History of the Peloponnesian War_ was written by the Greek historian Thucydides, who was an Athenian general during the war and exiled indefinitely for his failure to prevent the surrender of Amphipolis to the Spartans. The _History_ is an important work in the history of how history, especially military history, is written. Thucydides does actually give fear, honor, and self-interest as the motives behind war and does not, to my interpretation give any such abstract reasons for the end (he does give some military reasons and, as the work remains unfinished, we will never know what else he had planned). Here's some general information from reference(dot)com:

"It covered the period from 431 to 411 and was a departure from the histories of the past, both in method and presentation. He wrote a text to be read, not recited, and he was scrupulous in his presentation of facts. Preeminently a military history, chronicling events by the seasons, it completely avoids any reference to social conditions or state policy, unless they have to deal with the progress of the war, and interprets the succession of events in view of the general nature and behavior of man rather than as the result of a fate outside man's influence. The work is enlivened by the well-crafted speeches he puts into the mouths of participants in the events he chronicles, a common technique in his day. The most splendid of these is Pericles' funeral oration. Thucydides' account of the plague, through which he lived, displays his clinical and descriptive attitude and is a standard of its type. He is generally acclaimed as the creator of scholarly history as we know it today."

I've read the _History_ and found it to be very readable and engaging. It contains a surprising amount of parallels between the Peloponnesian War and current global political situation. Consider this my official recommendation. :) If you're not a huge fan of long Greek histories, try the excellent distilled version (translated and edited by Paul Woodruff) _On Justice, Power, and Human Nature: The Essence of Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War_.


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